


Smoking With Friends

by Overdressedtokill (SkyeStan)



Series: That One AoS Prep School AU [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-03 03:12:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1065082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyeStan/pseuds/Overdressedtokill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skye uses Grant to get out of gym class.  Grant decides he hates Miles.  And he’s definitely not jealous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smoking With Friends

“Team captains,” Ms. May says over the din, quickly silencing the students.  Ms. May has a tone that commands immediate attention.  She eyes her student for a moment.  

“Ward.  You’re up.”  Grant actually puffs his chest out, just enough to make him look a little bigger, like being picked to be a dodgeball captain is some great honor.  Skye is eying one of her more ragged cuticles, and doesn’t notice the glance Grant shoots her way.

“Fitz.  You get to be a captain today.”  Fitz turns away from whispering to Simmons.

“Me?” he squeaks, wide eyed.   Ms. May gives him an expectant look, which is far kinder than Grant’s half sneer.  Yeah, Fitz is kind of skinny, but Grant could be a little less of an ass.

“Fitz!” Simmons whispers, “Go stand next to Grant!”  Fitz shakes his head, silently pleading with Ms. May to pick anyone other than him.  She purses her lips.  The decision has been made.  Fitz nervously shuffles next to Ms. May and Grant.  Satisfied, Ms. May looks back to the rest of her students.

“Captains,” she says, “pick your teams.”

 

Weirdly enough, Fitz picks Skye second.  Simmons had been his first pick, obviously.  Skye takes it to mean that Fitz and Simmons have actually accepted her as a friend, which is pretty cool.  Also, Skye can definitely get on board with the “not being picked dead last,” thing.  It’s kind of annoying, that Fitz and Simmons and Skye can be friends, but Grant has to act like he doesn’t want to be anything other than co-actors, or whatever.  So not happening on Skye’s watch.

“Hey Grant,” she says to him, right in the middle of him picking the fourth member of his team.  He ignores her.  “Grant!” she says, louder.  “Grant Ward!”

“What?!” He exclaims, turning to her.

“Your ass looks hot in those shorts.”  The gym falls silent.  Grant’s face is slowly turning bright red, and he seems torn between yelling at Skye and running out of the gym.

“Skye,” Ms. May warns, “Not in my class.”  Skye runs her tongue along the back of her teeth, then bares her lips into a grin.

“Sorry, Ms. May,” Skye says, still staring at Grant, “won’t happen again.”  Grant coughs once, then twice, and straightens his shoulders.  He turns away from Skye, shaking his head.  His furious blush hasn’t faded.

 

Skye’s converse squeak on the polished gym floor as she shuffles her feet.  Her dodgeball strategy is pretty simple: hit Grant in the face.  Which is far more proactive than FitzSimmon’s collective strategy, which seems to be “dodge like your life depends on it.”  It seems to be working for them.  Like, they’re surprisingly agile.  You wouldn’t think Leo Fitz could jump that high, but whatever.  Grant is actually avoiding FitzSimmons when he throws, which is oddly sweet of him.  Skye’s willing to bet that he thinks no one is going to notice.

“If I said hit me with your best shot,” Skye quips, loud enough for Grant to hear, “would that be corny?” Grant turns his head towards her.  In his defense, he sees Skye moving towards a red ball, and her strategy is “hit Grant in the face,” so it does make sense to hurl a dodgeball in Skye’s direction.

 

It hits her square in the stomach.  Skye lets out an audible yelp of pain, and quickly falls to her knees.  Grant sucks in a sharp breath.  The game screeches to a halt, as Simmons runs to Skye’s side.

“Are you alright?” Simmons asks, and Fitz is shooting Grant a glare that would be intimidating coming from anyone else.  Skye makes a heaving sound.

“I think my lunch is going to come up,” she groans, shooting a desperate look to Ms. May.

“You want to go to the nurse?” Ms. May asks.  She’s drawn her lips into a line.  Skye dry heaves again, and wraps her arms around her stomach.  Slowly, she nods.

“Yes, please,” Skye says.  Ms. May nods.

“Ward,” she says, “take Skye to the nurse.”  Grant, who’s been trying not to nervously pace in circles around Skye, lets out a small, choked noise.

“Me?” Grant asks.  Ms. May rolls her eyes.

“You’re the one who threw it.” she says.  Grant gulps, before nervously leaning down and offering his hand to Skye.  She takes it, standing on wobbly legs.

“I’m sorry,” he offers, leading her out of the gym.  He can feel the class watching them.  “I’m really, really sorry.”

 

They make it about halfway to the nurse when Skye stops mid step and drops Grant’s hand.

“That was so fucking tedious,” Skye says suddenly, stretching her arms over her head.  The bitter pout she’d been wearing for their walk to the nurse’s office has all but vanished.  “Thanks for the out, Grant.”  She’s grinning at him.

“Did you legitimately fake an injury to get out of dodgeball?” Ward asks.  Skye snickers at his surprise.

“Uh, yeah.  I mean it hurt for like a second, but you didn’t throw it that hard.” She says this like it’s obvious.  Grant’s surprise has quickly given way to frustration, and he half considers going back to the gym and telling Ms. May that Skye is the worst thing that’s ever happened to him and that she should probably be expelled forever.  But maybe he’s overreacting.

“Come on,” she declares, as if there’s no argument to be had, “let’s go out to the parking lot.  I want a cigarette.”

“I’m not coming with you to smoke,” he says.  Skye’s upper lip curls just slightly.

“So, what?” She says, “You’re gonna go rat me out to Ms. May?”  Grant stares down at her, his arms crossed.  He’s hoping that his frown will get to her any second now, though that doesn’t seem to be happening.  Skye scoffs at him.

“Whatever,” she says, pulling a cigarette and a lighter from under her baggy tee shirt (did she have those in her bra this whole time?)  She starts down the hallway as Grant stands there, trying not to look at her legs.  She’s wearing really tiny gym shorts.  Probably on purpose.

“Skye,” he calls after her, “Skye, come on!”  She doesn’t pause in her stride.  Grant actually has to jog down the hall to catch up with her.

“‘Sup?” she asks, smirking at him.

“You get five minutes,” he warns, “then we’re going back to gym class.”  Skye shrugs.

“Sure, Grant,” she says.  “Whatever you say.”

 

“You have one minute and twenty seconds to finish that cigarette,” Grant tells Skye, showing her the timer on his phone to make a point.  She rolls her eyes, and returns his point by blowing a cloud of smoke in his general direction.  Grant scampers back.

“Gross,” he says, “I don’t want to smell like ash.”  Skye takes another drag.

“Chill,” Skye mutters, smoke escaping from between the gaps in her lips, “I’ve got one of those portable toothbrushes and some body spray in my locker.  No one will know.”

“Wait,” Grant says, “we have to make a detour to your locker?  Skye, we still have to change out of our gym clothes.  At this rate, we’re going to miss sixth period.”  Skye considers this, shifting her weight from leg to leg.  Again with her damn legs, like Grant’s not going to stare at them every time she’s looking away.

“You’re a real riot,” Skye finally says, grinning.  She holds the cigarette up by her mouth, and the wind blows the smoke back in Grant’s direction.

“Fifteen seconds,” he replies, and she flicks the cigarette to the ground, crushing it under her toes.

“For real,” she continues, “I bet you’re just the life of all those soccer parties that everyone’s so quick to talk about.”  Grant doesn’t want to tell her that he actually skips most of the soccer team’s get togethers, but from the way she’s smirking at him, he feels like she might already know.

“You can keep the sarcasm to yourself,” Grant retorts.  Skye fondly shakes her head.

“It’s more fun to share it,” she says.  Grant motions for her to move back into the school, and she’s about to when something (or someone) catches her eye.

 

“Skye!” Calls a voice from across the student parking lot.  Grant wrinkles his nose in distaste as Skye waves to the owner of the voice, a tall senior coming closer to them.  He’s got curly hair and he wears flannel, and Grant’s seen him around enough to know that he doesn’t like this boy at all.  One of those slacker genius types.  Just the worst.

“Don’t you have gym class?” the boy asks, picking Skye up in a hug.  She laughs loudly with excitement, kicking her legs in the air.

“Miles!” she says, “Put me down!”  She’s beaming when her feet meet the concrete again, and gives Miles a playful shove in the chest.  Miles lightly grabs her wrists and she wiggles her fingers.  Miles looks like he might kiss her. 

“We actually do have gym class,” Grant interrupts, loudly, “Skye was right in the middle of coming back from her trip to the nurse.”  Miles surveys Grant as if just noticing that the other boy has been standing awkwardly next to Skye this entire time.

“Who’s your friend?” Miles asks.  Grant doesn’t like his tone.  His fingernails dig into his palms.  Skye gives Grant a quick glance, before she moves to his side and firmly wraps her arm around his waist.  She probably would’ve gone for his shoulders, but he has about a foot on her. Grant isn’t sure who looks more shocked, him or Miles.

“This is Grant,” Skye says.  “I’m dragging him into a life of delinquency.”  Miles nods slowly, then grins.

“Sounds cool,” Miles says.  “Does he want to buy weed?”  Skye giggles, and Grant’s eyes widen so fast that even Miles starts to laugh.  “It’s a joke.  I don’t sell weed.”  Miles raises his hands in mock surrender.  “You don’t have to report me to Ms. May.”  Grant’s considering it, anyway.  Miles is probably guilty of something.

“Can we go back to gym?” Grant asks, not quite sure why he’s asking for Skye’s permission.

“I guess,” Skye muses, “if you’re that eager.”

“Meet me for coffee after school?” Miles asks, and Skye looks up at Grant for just a moment before tossing her hair over her shoulders.  The smiles she’s been giving to Miles are entirely different than the ones Grant has been receiving, and he realizes this only when Skye leaves his side to head back into school.

“Sure, Miles,” Skye says.  Grant can’t put his finger on how they’re different-on the surface, the smiles seem more flirtatious, but her eyes speak of deeper volumes.  He’s not jealous, or anything.

 

“Did you just use me to make your boyfriend jealous?” Grant asks, as Skye enters the combination to her locker.  Skye pauses, turning to study Grant’s face.  He’s trying to frown at her, but he’s not sure if he’s actually angry at her or if she’s just making him anxious.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Skye says, turning back to her lock.  Grant feels himself let out a deep exhale- “I mean, we have sex sometimes but he’s not my boyfriend.”  And there it is.  Grant crosses his arms and leans against the wall of lockers next to Skye’s.  “And yes.” Skye continues, “I used you to make him jealous.”

“Why?” Grant asks.

“Because we’re friends?” Skye replies, “and I like to keep Miles on his toes.”  

“We’re not friends,” Grant says, before he can really think about it.  Skye pulls back from her locker holding the portable toothbrush.  She’s gazing up at him like he’s just said something stupid, and when she opens her mouth it is not to speak but to brush her teeth.  Up and down, around her molars and against her tongue.  Grant shouldn’t stare, but he does.  When Skye finishes, she wraps the toothbrush back in it’s plastic wrapping before throwing it out.

“We’re not friends,” Grant repeats, “You can ignore me, but it’s true.”  Skye’s reaching in her locker again, emerging with the body spray.  She pulls the cap off, and then spritzes Grant once, square in the chest.  “Hey!” he protests.

“We’re friends,” Skye tells him, watching him try to wipe vanilla scent from his tee shirt.  “We’ve been friends since like, day two of Hamlet.”

“We can’t be friends if I say we’re not friends.”  Skye ignores him, spraying her hair and running her fingers through.

“If we weren’t friends,” Skye says, tossing the spray back into her locker and slamming the door, “you wouldn’t be jealous of Miles.  We’ve got a connection.”  She grins, victorious.  He has no reply.  He is truly at a loss for words.  And she’s already headed back down the hallway.

“Skye!” he yells.  He’s been calling her name a lot, lately.  “Skye, I am not jealous!”  He pouts for another second, maybe two, before running to catch up with her.


End file.
